Never drunkenly promise a girl fancy underwear, she will remember
The second date went well, very well for something that was technically a disaster. I was late, the film was sold out and we were both slightly frazzled from busy days at work.
She was waiting outside in a short, slightly snug black dress with little spots on it. I do like it when women dress as ladies. It’s such a rare quality these days.
Once we had discovered that it was impossible to get tickets for Black Swan in London we stomped over to a little pub I knew because I’ve done stand-up gigs there. It’s a pub with high ceilings and huge windows. The sort of place that smug hipsters go on Sunday mornings to read the papers and work on their screenplay on an Apple Mac.
At night it’s a perfectly acceptable pub though at night, one with a reasonable wine list and that makes lovely fresh pizzas.
This was a second date so we talked about slightly more grown-up stuff like you know background, where you are going and weirdly Victoria’s Secret underwear. I really can’t remember how it came up but it did and I mentioned I get sent stuff all the time and I have no idea what to do with it.
This was mid-way through the second bottle of wine, and I think I wouldn’t have remembered if she hadn’t reminded me of it the next day.
The date rattled on well, I found out more about her. We discussed plans for the future and all sorts of silly things. The time flew by and we had to scamper off to the tube.
We were heading in the same direction at first and then parted suddenly because we didn’t realise what stop it was. There was no kissing but we did exchange email addresses.
The next day she emailed me saying she would still like to see Black Swan (we are going today) and to remind me about underwear promises. Oh dear.
Marriage percentage: 25% – Good dress, good times, bad timing. I’m not supposed to meet someone this much fun just before New York.